


How To Save A Life…

by TheRainRogue



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Gen, One Shot, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:07:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24466201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRainRogue/pseuds/TheRainRogue
Summary: It’s amazing, how such a simple gesture can mean so much to a person. They may not even realize the impact that they made, despite how big it may be. Human beings have the power to connect in a way that goes beyond any other species, but they don’t always choose to do so. With a simple act, a person can change another’s life, whether for good or bad. That kind of power is dangerous, so I suppose it’s a good thing that most human beings don’t realize they actually possess such a thing.
Collections: One Shots, Original Writings





	How To Save A Life…

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING; Mentions self-harm.

  * **Genre** : Slice of Life, Angst ☁
  * **Word Count** : 2,003 ☁
  * **Pairing** : None ☁
  * **World** : Original ☁



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It’s amazing, how such a simple gesture can mean so much to a person. They may not even realize the impact that they made, despite how big it may be. Human beings have the power to connect in a way that goes beyond any other species, but they don’t always choose to do so. With a simple act, a person can change another’s life, whether for good or bad. That kind of power is dangerous, so I suppose it’s a good thing that most human beings don’t realize they actually possess such a thing.

The more I think about it, the more it scares me. But I guess that doesn’t mean much, seeing how afraid I am of other humans in general. I really didn’t like other people, and I absolutely hate the way they make me feel when I’m around them. I go out of my way to avoid other people, and I make sure that I don’t get into any type of fights or altercations with others. I seem to have a skill, though, that makes people hate me with every fiber of their being. It’s been that way since I was a child.

Back then, I strived to get close to other people; all I wanted was a single person I could call a friend. It didn’t work out like I had hoped or like it always does on television. I didn’t fit in with any of the groups around me, even though I went out of my way to change myself to fit them. I did many things I shouldn’t have, that I still regret to this day, just to get them to like me, but they wouldn’t, they refused to accept me. They used me for what they could get, got a good laugh, and then dumped me to the side like roadkill.

It was frustrating, sure, but more than anything else, it just plain hurt. It wasn’t physical, so there was no amount of medicine that I could take that would cure the pain. I refused to do drugs and I refused to go out and get drunk just to forget. I suppose what I did choose to do was just as bad, though. Instead of drugs or alcohol, I turned to cutting. It terrified me every time I placed the smooth blade to my pale skin. Even though I was in so much pain, I didn’t want to die.

I was afraid to die.

I loved the world, I just hated the people in it.

Still, I slid the blade across my skin despite my fear. It was never deep enough to put me in harm’s way, which proves how much of a coward I really am – it’s pretty sad. It was no deeper than a cat scratch, but it still stung and throbbed, and little diamonds of blood covered it like a blanket. It was enough to make me feel better, for a few minutes, before I started to feel stupid for what I was doing to myself. That just made the situation worse.

I already hated myself for various reasons – fat, ugly, and above all else, unable to do anything right, just to name the main ones – and now I had cutting to add to my list. I was a despicable human being, I still am, but at least I can handle it a bit better now. I don’t cut anymore, though it does cross my mind occasionally.

Perhaps that’s a side effect of the crazy pills that I’m on now.

Though the pills do ease the fear of human beings, it can’t take it away. It’s still there, lingering just beneath the surface, waiting for me to feel safe and secure before it winds its black arms around me like death coming from the shadows. It grips my throat until I can’t breathe, and chains my heart so tight that it hurts every time it beats.

Sometimes I would envision myself in a barren wasteland, filled with nothing but rock formations that towered over me like skyscrapers. I could see chains binding my wrists to a metal plate in the ground, one that refused to budge so much as half an inch. The ground would crack beneath me, and lava would begin to seep through, but I couldn’t run away.

I could never run away.

I often wondered if someone could come to my rescue, to take me away, but I hated how that sounded. One thing I didn’t like – besides people -, was being a damsel in distress that needed a knight in shining armor to come to rescue her. Really, I’d be fine with just having someone that was a true friend, but after a while, I started to doubt the meaning of that word. I actually looked it up, and the definition only filled me with misery, knowing that I’d never have such a relationship.

Sure, there were people that tolerated me and my smart ass quips, like my co-workers, but something deep down told me they didn’t actually like me. I’m positive they only act nice because we have to see each other every week, and often are put together on projects. The day goes by in a painfully slow manner when you’re working with someone and there’s nothing but lightning between you – sadly, I know this because I just recently learned the true nature of my _**friend**_ , who believes she’s done nothing wrong.

But I’m probably mostly to blame, anyway.

I guess I got a little off point, here, and for that, I apologize. I’m sure my ramblings mean nothing to you. So, let me spare you further hell, and begin telling you my boring, bang-your-head-against-a-brick-wall story.

Everything began when I was twenty-years-old, working at the local J.C. Penneys in the mall. It was my second job, and although my bosses were lenient and pleasant to be around – most of the time -, I still hated it. Not only because I was lazy, but because I hated having to deal with customers. Dealing with the people I worked with was one thing, but having the thought of being thrown onto the register with a customer was like staring my own death in the face.

Wait, I take that back. I’d rather stare death in the face than be on the register with customers.

Thankfully, this rat has learned to hide and run from customers – which would probably get me fired if anyone knew I did that since the company was one of those customer first types. That’s also why I do my very best to keep these thoughts tucked away from prying eyes. I mean, I hated being out there with people, but I needed the money. And in what other job would you be able to cower in an air-conditioned stock room by yourself, with no one to deal with but the massive racks of clothes that needed to be priced? It was heaven, really, but it didn’t happen very often.

I guess in a way I rely on my co-workers more than I should. With them around, I can roll the customer off onto them and get away scot-free. They don’t mind since they can actually handle having a simple conversation with other people.

It was the beginning of Spring, the beginning of April, and although it had been slightly chilly as of late, Florida was beginning to warm up. I didn’t mind the rare thirty-degree weather, it was the eighty-degree humidity covered weather that sent me to the floor panting and begging my family to move to Antarctica. I was very sensitive to heat, of any kind, which is another thing I can add to my pathetic list.

Nothing really special was happening in my life at the time, not like it ever did at any other time. I woke up last minute, rushed off to work, grit my teeth and tried not to harm myself just to be sent home, and when I finally would make it home, I’d flop in front of the computer where I stayed until it was time to go to bed.

See, rather than being one of those kids that goes out and parties the night away, having sex with every guy that smiles at her, I’ve always been the nerdy kid that sat at home, with no friends, playing video games and screwing around online. If anything, that’s the only thing I can say I like about myself. Of course, I probably would have done those things if I had actually had friends to coax me into them – I cave easily, remember?

That Monday, I expected the same routine.

I was only working six hours, so I just bit the inside of my cheek and decided to bare it, just like I did every other day that I worked at this godforsaken clothing store – I didn’t even like fashion, for fuck’s sake. That should be pretty obvious since I only ever come to work in t-shirts, jeans, and dirty sneakers that were falling apart – thank you, Walmart, for your wonderful quality in shoes.

I said goodbye to my mother, and promised to call her which I had no intention of doing – I mean, come on, I only get fifteen minutes, and I fully intend on spending those minutes trying to stay alive!

Since it was seven in the morning, and the store did not open until ten, I was forced to stand there looking like an idiot, pushing the little white button until my supervisor came power walking to the door with the keys. The older woman would smile and greet me with the typical good morning routine before telling me what I would be doing that day.

After her explanation, I’d take the elevator to the second floor – and god was it slow – before heading to the pricing office. Just like always, my team was already back there, scrambling around getting pricing books and sheets, picking out the cart they wanted, and trying to find a scanner that actually worked – those were few and far between, believe me.

The women would greet me, but it was nothing beyond a simple ‘ _good morning_ ‘. Though I wanted to say something else, I never did, because I never knew what to say, and I knew I could never hold a conversation without doing something I’d regret. It was easier just to keep it short and simple. Seeing these women did make me feel a bit happy, even though we weren’t friends. I liked their presence, and they could be rather funny when they worked together.

Today we were looking for clearance in the Men’s department. Apparently, we had about fifty sheets of stuff to find, though I was sure we’d only be successful in about half the list, if that.

When nine-forty rolled around, I attended the meeting just so I could sit down for a few minutes, though nothing they discussed had anything to do with my team and, to be completely honest, I could care less about who got the most ICAPS, and who got the best reviews on the survey.

Good for them.

Give ’em a damn cookie and move on.

I took my time after the meeting ended because I decided to take my break now, so I could have fifteen more minutes without the threat of customers. I always did this when I worked six-hour days; it was starting to become a routine.

With those fifteen minutes, I spent them in the air-conditioned break room, in the back corner – or _**emo corner**_ , as I’ve officially dubbed it -, trying to collect my thoughts and prepare myself for the horrible experience I was going to be throwing myself into it. It took a lot to calm myself down, but I managed it, just like always.

If only I had known how different that day was going to be.

If only I had known what was really going to happen to me that day.

I really should have stayed home.

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End file.
